Resurrection
by Isodriel
Summary: Post Chosen. Spike is brought back by the Powers That Be, not as a ghost, but as a human being. And newly human Spike isn't about to take his second chance at life for granted. SB.
1. You Don't Look Like A Vampire

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Seriously. Also, any quotes I use at the beginnings of chapters are either song lyrics or poetry excerpts, and therefore part of the "not mine" category. The one used below is from a Paramaecium song (although God forbid I be mistaken for a fan).

**Author's Note: **This fic post-Chosen and slightly AU; I'm basically ignoring all the Angel Season 5 episodes and altering the Spike-amulet arc so that he was never sent to Wolfram & Hart and instead of coming back as a ghost, he's brought back by the Powers as a human being . So yes, he Shanshus, or whatever (not quite sure whether it's meant to be used as a noun or a verb).

**1: You Don't Look Like A Vampire**

I am not alive, though they say I am.  
Such is the grave inconsequence of man;  
Liar that I am, I am not alive at all,  
Not alive at all, no. I am not alive.

---

The crew responsible for clearing the massive amounts of rubble from the crater that had once been Sunnydale, California consisted of at least a thousand men, working in shifts on a special commission from the government for the kind of money that most construction workers wouldn't earn in an entire year. So despite the hazards, the difficulty and the boredom, every single man and woman on site was determined to finish the job. And the sooner they finished, the sooner they'd get paid.

They had arrived expecting to be dealing with the ruins of buildings, but instead they'd found that most of the buildings had apparently been swallowed by the earth (during what the government referred to as an earthquake, although everyone knew better) and the site was basically an enormous dust pit strewn with stray piles of concrete, brick and glass. Once they'd been cleared away, there'd be nothing left to remind anyone that Sunnydale had ever existed.

---

For Jake Lyman, the job was dream come true. He sat behind the controls of a bulldozer and easily, almost lazily, scooped large amounts of dislodged soil and rock into the trucks waiting to carry them away to only God knew where. He had never before unearthed anything interesting, and wasn't expecting to – but all that changed when he caught sight of something that gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight.

Whatever it was had narrowly avoided being scooped up by the bulldozer and lay on the dusty ground only about a foot or two away from where Jake was sitting. He glanced around furtively to make sure no one else had noticed it and slid quickly out of his seat to take a closer look.

It was an amulet of some kind. More precisely, it was one of the largest gems Jake had ever seen – roughly circular in shape and the transparent white color of diamonds – wreathed in some sort of burnished metal and attached to a heavy chain of the same metal. It looked extremely valuable, and Jake wasn't the kind of guy who'd thoughtlessly leave something like that lying around. It clearly needed a new owner, and that new owner might as well be him.

He reached for it, but as soon as his fingers came into contact with the gem a burning sensation shot up his arm and he snatched it away quickly. "_Ouch. _What the hell?"

A blinding flash of light effectively answered the question, and Jake automatically put up his hands to cover his face as something strongly resembling a whirlwind surrounded the amulet, throwing up a cloud of dust. Even after the whirlwind stopped and the dust settled, Jake couldn't bring himself to open his eyes for a long time.

And when he finally did, he instantly regretted it.

---

It felt like waking up from a dreamless sleep, only it was far more shocking to find himself suddenly standing on solid ground underneath a blazing sun that it would have been to wake up quietly in a crypt (or the Summers' basement). Suddenly snatched from oblivion and thrown into completely solid reality, Spike was beyond disoriented. He could barely tell up from down and it even took a while to realize that he was being bathed in intense California sunlight.

But once he did realize, it didn't take long to react. "Arrrgh! _Arrrrgh! _Bloody hell! Bloody _goddamn _hell!"

Jake was frightened and not a little confused by the spectacle of this strange man, who reminded him oddly of Billy Idol and had apparently come out of the thin air, bend double on the spot and cover his head with his arms while he swore profusely.

This continued for a good few moments, until Spike gradually came to a startling discovery: he wasn't on fire.

He wasn't even giving off a faint about-to-become-vampire-dust smoke. Every inch of him that wasn't covered by clothing was being mercilessly exposed to the sun's rays – and _nothing was happening._ No searing pain, no crackling of flames. Nothing.

Slowly and very cautiously, he straightened up and took a good, solid look at his hands. He moved them around in the sunlight and waited for spontaneous combustion to happen. Still nothing.

He looked up at Jake, whom he'd only just noticed, with surprise and confusion intermingling on his features. "Am I dead?"

Jake was startled by the question. "Uh…" How exactly was he supposed to answer someone who just jumped out of an amulet? He decided to go for honesty. "I – I don't think so. I mean, you don't look dead."

"How would you know?" Spike asked challengingly. "You ever laid eyes on a dead person?"

Jake ran a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed. "Well, no. But everyone knows dead people don't … you know, walk and talk and stuff." He was trying to figure out whether Billy Idol Guy's heavy Cockney accent was real or fake. "Unless they're ghosts."

Spike looked down at his own body thoughtfully. "Well, I'm definitely not a ghost. Not transparent enough, for one thing."

"And – and you're not pale enough," Jake added hesitantly. "Ghosts are supposed to be chalk-white."

Spike was clearly affronted by this. "Hey, I'm more than pale enough. I'm the bloody King of Pale. Comes with the vampire package."

Jake looked doubtful. "You don't look like a vampire to me."

Spike smirked. "Oh, really? Hang on for half a second, and I'll show you a vampire." And he proceeded to determinedly scowl at Jake.

After a few moments of being scowled at, Jake became even more nervous. Billy Idol Guy might not have jumped out of an amulet after all; he might just be some escaped mental patient with a talent for appearing out of nowhere. Somehow, the second notion was far more disturbing to him than the first. "Um … what are you doing?"

Spike stopped scowling in evident frustration. He was surprised to see the complete absence of terror in Jake's manner – by now the man should've been quaking in his dusty boots. "Can't you see it?"

"See what?"

"My face!" Spike pointed at the aforementioned face for emphasis. "Isn't it changing?"

He scowled again, but Jake only shook his head. "You're just pulling a funny face. Anyone can do that."

"I am – _not _– pulling – a – _funny face_! I'm morphing into horrific vampire mode." He scowled again, but Jake only continued to give him a faintly puzzled look. Spike lifted his hand gingerly to his teeth and discovered, to his own horror, that they had definitely not lengthened into anything resembling fangs. Neither had his forehead ridged. And as far as he could tell, his senses hadn't heightened at all.

"Like I said, you don't look like a vampire." Jake's tone had become just a little patronizing. "Vampires can't stand the sunlight, and here you are in broad daylight, and as far as I can tell you're not … melting, or whatever. And also, vampires are _undead._ That means they don't _breathe_."

"Who said I breathe?" Spike asked, trying to regain some of his slipping self-confidence. "I haven't taken a breath in over a hundred and twenty –"

And then he felt it. The subtle, barely noticeable rising of his chest, accompanied by the sensation of air slipping into his mouth. The shock of it robbed him of all speech. He had just inhaled. And now – even more shockingly – he was exhaling. And then the entire process repeated itself in less than two seconds.

When he finally spoke, his tone was full of awe. "I'm breathing. I'm _alive._" It was amazing. For the first time in over a century, he was a living, breathing, pulse-having, _human_ being. He could barely even comprehend the wonder of it.

Jake, who was now convinced of the escaped-mental-patient theory, only rolled his eyes. "Well, _duh_."

---


	2. A Psychic, A Seer And A Song

**Author's Note: **Since this chapter takes place long before the Angel Season 5 episode "Damage", Buffy & Co haven't necessarily yet traveled to the places that Andrew reports them being in when he visits LA. Ergo, I'm taking the artistic liberty of assuming that they haven't yet split up and gone their separate ways (to Rome, England, Africa, etc). It just makes things easier. As always, feedback is welcome.

**23/05/07: **I accidentally replaced this chapter with Baguettes And Other Good Things when I uploaded the third chapter. Sorry about that. :-P And thanks to Timeless Traveler for the heads-up.

**2. A Psychic, A Seer And A Song**

There is a rapture that my soul desires  
There is a something that I cannot name.  
I know not after what my soul aspires  
Nor guess from whence the restless longing came.

---

He'd been wandering for a long time. He wasn't quite sure _how _long, or in which direction, or why. By the time he became fully aware of his surroundings, he was already out of Sunnydale (or rather, what _used_ to be Sunnydale) and was walking on the dusty, sun-baked ground alongside a motorway

He was thirsty, but the thought of drinking blood physically repulsed him. For the first time in over a century, all he wanted was a glass of water. And maybe something to sit down on. His legs would probably be able to carry him for a while yet, but already they were beginning to ache with the monotonous exertion of walking. _Perks aside, this humanity business doesn't seem to be good for much. _

He tried to think of what a human would normally do in this kind of distressing scenario, and an image popped into his head of a man standing by the road with one arm extended, his hand clenched except for his thumb, which pointed upwards. _Yeah, that's right. Hitch-hiking. _It was as good as an idea as any, so he decided to try it.

It felt fairly ridiculous to be standing by the side of the road with his thumb in the air, but less than a minute passed before a car slowed down. The driver, a heavily made-up middle-aged woman wearing a short black dress and stiletto heels, leaned across her seat to push the passenger side door open. "You need a ride, honey?"

_'Honey'? And what's with that get-up? _"Uh, that depends. Where are you off to?"

The woman gave him a broad smile. "Now that's not really something you should be asking, is it? Beggars can't be choosers, after all." She nudged the door open further. "Hop in."

Spike was about to comply, but then he hesitated. The woman's stare reminded him of the way he used to look at human throats_. Like a cat cornering a fat mouse. _"No, I don't think so."

"What?"

"You heard me. No thanks." Spike turned and started walking down the road. To his annoyance, the woman drove the car forward slowly along the hard shoulder, following him. The door was still open.

"Aw, come on, now. You're not likely to get many more offers." She gave him a sugary smile. "I'll take you wherever you wanna go."

_Yeah, I bet you will. Cradle-snatcher. _Spike was probably two or three times the woman's age, but she couldn't possibly know that; for all she knew, he was a spry young twenty-something-year-old. "Look, Mrs. Robinson, I said no. Now stop violating traffic laws and get back on the road."

The woman managed to keep up the smile. "Mrs. Robinson? So you think I look like Anne Bancroft, hmm? I'll take that as compliment."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Take it any way you want and get the hell away from me." Then he realized what he'd just said and, from the lascivious smile spreading across her face, the woman had realized it too.

"_Any_ way I want? That sounds like fun," she said coyly.

_This is just unbelievable. Been alive for a few hours and already I'm being picked up by a bloody geriatric sexual predator. _

He bent down to look at the woman's face. "Turn up that hearing aid, grandma. I'm _not _interested, so _bugger_ _off._"

She finally had the sense to be offended and drove off without another word, leaving Spike extremely relieved but still pretty much stranded. He didn't have any choice but to stick his thumb out again and hope for the best.

---

The pick-up truck was extraordinarily dilapidated and smelled like live chickens (which made sense, since cages full of the poor things were stacked back in the truck's bed), but there was very little chance that the hefty male driver was planning on making any sexual advances at Spike, so he wasn't about to complain.

The man was headed for San Diego and as far as Spike was concerned, it was as good a destination as any other. He had no idea where to start looking for the ex-Sunnydale group – and most importantly, Buffy – but there was more than one psychic in San Diego and with the right amount of not-so-gentle persuasion they'd probably be willing to help him out.

---

"No."

Spike couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What? Why not?"

The psychic woman who advertised herself as Lady Mortolla but had been born Janice Alvin Walker rolled her eyes and rearranged the many shawls wrapped around her shoulders. Her Eastern European accent was incredibly thick and incredibly fake. "I am a psychic – a medium. I communicate with the spirit world and Things From Beyond." This was said with suitable dramatic emphasis, so that it sounded more like "Thiiings From _Beyooond_."

"Yeah, I read the bloody poster. That's why I'm _here_. So what's the problem then?"

"You are looking for a _living person,_" Lady Mortolla huffed impatiently. "I cannot help you. I see only what has been, not what _is._"

Spike was surprised at how different anger felt to him as a human being. He was used to anger as a cold, thrilling feeling: fuel for the demonic instincts of his vampire side. Now it was a far more immediate emotion. "Listen, I don't have time to mess around. If you can't help me, tell me who can."

"You need a seer," she said, spitting out the word 'seer' in a tone of extreme disgust. "One of them can help you find this Fluffy."

"Buffy," Spike corrected her.

"Really? Oh, the poor girl." She caught sight of Spike's murderous expression and added, "But I'm sure she's perfectly charming, despite her … _unusual_ name." His scowl deepened and she continued in a hurry: "In any case, there is a seer on Cobalt Street who is reputed to be less of a fraudulent maggot than the rest of his kind. He's in the Rosemere apartment building; number 14. If you _must_ consult one of them, go to him."

---

Spike stood in front of the door of apartment number 14 and took a deep breath (a process which continued to amaze him) before ringing the doorbell. He waited, rang it again, and waited some more.

Eventually heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, accompanied by giggling. The door slid open a crack and Spike was surprised to see the face of a brown-eyed little boy staring up at him from about waist-height. He looked up at him questioningly and asked, in a breathy lisp, "Quiénes son usted?"

_Oh, great. _Spike wasn't quite sure why this child had answered the door, but he had a vivid image of an angry parent coming out, baseball bat in hand, to ask him what the hell he was doing talking to their kid. _Let's hope this seer bloke is at home. _

On top of that, his Spanish was embarrassingly bad and so there'd be little chance of making himself understood unless someone in the place spoke English. _Might as well ask Junior here. _"Uh… Do you speak English?"

The boy gave him an oddly solemn, searching glance. "Yes," he said finally, in the same lisping voice. "I do. You are William and Spike," he added suddenly, his eyes now fixed on the ex-vampire's hair.

Spike raised a hand to his platinum blonde hair self-consciously. "That's an odd way of putting it. But yeah, that'd be me. How do you –?"

"I am Miguel," the boy interrupted, with a childish grin that revealed two large gaps in his teeth. "I know where she is."

"She? She as in Buffy?" Spike was so interested by this declaration that he bent down until his face was level with the boy's and forgot momentarily that he was speaking to a six-year-old. "Where is she?"

To his complete surprise, the boy opened his mouth and began to sing in a sweet, high-pitched, slightly off-key voice. "I love Paris in the spriiingtime, I love Paris in the faaall…"

Spike quickly overcame his shock. "She's in Paris? Are you sure?"

Miguel looked him straight in the eye and continued to sing. "I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris...?" And then he paused, as though expecting Spike to answer him.

"I don't know this song," Spike told him. "Sorry, mate. Would you mind just _telling_ me?"

A few moments passed and then the boy sighed. His voice dropped to a low, solemn whisper and he spoke rather than sang: "Because my love is near."

He tilted his head so that his dark brown curls brushed against his shoulder, and gave Spike another gap-toothed, childishly sincere smile. "Hotel Elysees Opera, Rue de Turin. But only for nine more days."

"Where'll she go after that?"

Miguel shrugged, a slightly troubled expression crossing his face. "I don't know. It's … cloudy. Usted debe apresurarse. You must hurry. Sí?"

Spike found himself feeling relieved for the first time in what seemed like an age. "Sí," he repeated, smiling.

---


	3. Baguettes And Other Good Things

**Author's Note:** Quote courtesy of Simon and Garfunkel. Reviews appreciated.

**3. Baguettes And Other Good Things**

We walked on frosted fields of juniper and lamplight; I held your hand.  
And when I awoke and felt you warm and near,  
I kissed your honey hair with my grateful tears.  
Oh I love you, girl. Oh, I love you.

**---**

"So, you know that whole big thing people have about French bread? The way they're always going on about it on cooking shows and stuff?"

Dawn looked up from the guidebook she was reading. "Yeah?"

"I get that now." Xander bit into his third sliced buttered baguette with an extremely satisfied smile. "These things should be labeled an illegal recreational substance. Because seriously, drugs can't be any better than this."

"Well, not just any drug," Giles agreed absently. "But really good quality marijuana could give it a run for its money." He looked up and noticed the shocked looks on their faces. "In _theory_, of course"

"Of course." Willow stifled a giggle. She had a sudden image of Giles as a teenager, smoking pot in someone's basement. The image wasn't all that surprising, given his past.

"But seriously," Xander insisted, "this bread – and I'm only calling it that because I can't think of a more exciting word for bread right now – makes me seriously glad that we saved the world, oh, fifteen times or so."

"I'm sure there were more noble reasons for saving it," Giles said dryly.

"Not that I can think of," Xander countered. "Baguettes and comic books make up pretty much the entire list for me."

"That's sad," Dawn said. "I, on the other hand, saved it for the sake of _good_ things, like … rainbows and puppies."

Xander arched an eyebrow. "And that's less sad _how?_"

"Speaking of people who saved the world, where's Buffy?" Willow asked. "She's usually up by now."

"Yes, she woke hours ago. Decided to take a walk." Giles frowned slightly. "Alone. Again."

"Not signs of a happy camper," Xander noted. "Anyone else think she might be depressed?"

Willow shrugged, looking vaguely worried. "She'll be okay. I just think the whole Apocalypse experience took a toll on her."

"It took a toll on all of us, Will," Xander said quietly. A brief spasm of sorrow crossed his features and Willow knew he was thinking of Anya.

"I know," she said gently. "I just meant she might need a little time before she gets back to her usual bouncy vampire-staking self."

"Yeah, but vampires might just be a big part of the problem," he muttered. "Or _a _vampire, at least."

Willow looked even more worried. "You don't think she's depressed because of –"

"I'm not saying she is. But it's a possibility." He sighed. "A really bad possibility, because it's not like crying about it is going to bring him back."

---

"Bloody Frenchmen. Why can't they write a bloody map in the Queen's bloody _English_?" Spike glared at the map of Paris in his hands and looked up fiercely at the nearest street sign. As far as he could tell, he was nowhere near Rue de Turin, but then again, he couldn't tell much of anything at all from the map. "Bloody useless piece of –"

And then he turned a corner, and suddenly he was in sight of the Hotel Elysees Opera. "Well, fancy that. Looks like luck's on my side for once." A startled passer-by overheard him talking to himself and gave him an odd look before hurrying away.

Spike sighed and folded the map, slipping into the pocket of his black leather duster. _Well, here goes everything. _

---

Buffy wasn't sure what she was doing wandering down the wide shopping avenue near the hotel. She didn't feel like shopping, or being anywhere near other people for that matter. But it was far better to be among strangers who couldn't have any idea what she was thinking about than to sit in the hotel-room with her friends, who would almost definitely guess the subject of her thoughts. And probably disapprove of it.

It wasn't like they were wrong. It was pointless to brood about his death and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself. Thoughts about him – painful memories, fragments of conversations they'd had – kept slipping into her mind, and she wasn't sure whether or not she actually wanted to keep them out.

The really ridiculous thing was, she kept seeing him everywhere. In the hotel restaurant, at the park where she and the other Scoobies had spent their latest afternoon together, even out on the crowded street, right in the middle of the day.

She'd never seen him in the sunlight before, but that didn't matter. She didn't have any problem imagining it; after all, there was no part of him she wasn't intimately familiar with. It was easy enough to recreate his image in her mind's eye. She didn't do it on purpose, but that only made it seem all the more painfully, wonderfully real. In the fleeting moments when she imagined seeing him, she could almost believe he still existed.

She found an empty table at the Orchidée café further down the avenue and ordered a cappuccino. After all, if she was going to brood, she might as well do it sitting down with her hands around a warm mug.

---

He was trying to keep his eyes resolutely on the hotel building as he walked towards it, but something kept distracting him. He ignored it at first, but then as he got closer to it, it began to bother him so much that he couldn't avoid paying attention to it.

And it was only when he paid proper attention to it that he realized that it was the gleam of sunlight on honey blonde hair. Before he'd even noticed the girl the hair belong to, that familiar gleam had tugged at his subconscious and forced him to look across the street, away from the Hotel Elysees Opera and towards a nearby café.

And there she was.

He was almost sure his mind was playing on tricks on him, because she couldn't possibly be as beautiful as that. He remembered her beauty, but he always knew that real life could be disappointing compared to memories. She wasn't facing him, so he saw the profile of her slender frame and loose shoulder-length hair, but not her eyes.

And he needed to look into those eyes before he could believe he'd found her.

---

"This seat taken?"

Her instinct was to look up, but that voice with its lilting accent was so heartbreakingly familiar. She didn't want to see a stranger's face and disappoint herself just yet. "Not yet," she answered, pretending that she was speaking to _him_. "But I'd take it before the line starts to form if I were you."

That soft chuckle was also familiar; so familiar, in fact, that the sound of it sent a tingle over her skin. _God, if I didn't know better I'd think it was…_ She glanced at the man sitting across from her and froze. _Spike_?

It was the same face, with its angular features and high cheekbones, and that scarred eyebrow she remembered so well. The same startlingly clear blue-grey eyes looked into hers, framed by the same dark lashes. But it wasn't him. Couldn't be him.

"You're not real," she told him faintly.

He tilted his head slightly and the shadow of a smile crossed his lips. "Depends on what you mean by 'real', love. Is a human being real enough for you?"

---


	4. The Littlest Part

**Author's Note: **I hadn't planned on continuing this fic, but then I got started on this chapter and it pretty much wrote itself. (All except for the quote, obviously, which is from the KT Tunstall track _Hold On_). Not sure if there's gonna be a number five though.

**4: The Littlest Part**

Simplicity… A heart of gold, an old head, and young shoulders;  
Quiet and lovely,  
Becoming part of me.  
And now I see,  
From a handful of names and a thousand faces,  
One light, burning, furiously.

---

Buffy was stunned. She felt strangely dizzy, and for a moment her surroundings seemed to blur, phasing out of focus while the face of the man sitting in front of her remained in startling clarity. _So this is what's like to lose it, _she found herself thinking absently. _Everything goes quiet and dead people show up in Technicolor holograms to pay a visit. It's actually kinda nice. _

"Buffy?"

That voice. It brought her back from the edge of mental breakdown, made her remember where she was and why she was there. She let herself stare into those bright blue eyes, trying to memorize every detail of them and the face they belonged to before the hallucination of Spike, or whatever it was, disappeared completely.

"Don't," she said hoarsely, before she could stop herself.

Spike had been so engrossed in studying the beautiful symmetry of her face, the slight changes in her hair and skin tone, that the desperate look in her eyes had escaped him for a moment. But now he caught it – the fear, the disbelief in them. He ached to reach out and touch her, but he didn't want to scare her any more than he obviously already had. "Don't what?"

"Disappear." Her voice was barely audible now, and her hands trembled slightly, so that she had to tighten her grip around on the cappuccino mug to still them.

He leaned forward earnestly. "Not going anywhere, luv." The fearful look in her eyes was still there, and it was killing him. "Never again, I swear."

"How…?" She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "You – the amulet – it was burning you. I saw it. You _died_."

He attempted a casual shrug. "Yeah, but since when is that the end of the road? I seem to recall a certain Slayer going six feet under at least twice, and she's looking spry as anything now."

He'd been aiming to get an actual smile out of her, but the softening of her features into something like an amused expression was good enough. "Spry?" she repeated, with the shadow of a laugh in her voice. "That's your idea of a compliment?"

"Hey, I've been dead," he reminded her. "Give me a little time to recover all my usual charm."

She did smile then, her body visibly relaxing as the realization that he wasn't a hallucination washed over her. "You're really here," she said, her voice full of wonder. And there was something in her tone that sounded suspiciously like gratitude as well, but he didn't want to read too much in to it.

_Or actually, yes I do, _he thought, his mouth twitching into its own version of her smile. _I want to read a hell of a lot into it. Like, for example, that she missed me like blazes while I was gone. And that she's glad I'm not just a pile of post-Apocalypse dust topped by an incredibly poncey necklace. _

He couldn't be sure yet, but judging by the way the smile was lingering exquisitely on her face, he'd say he was on the right track.

"What brought you back?" she asked. If she was honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she didn't really care, but it seemed like an appropriate question. In any case, it sounded a lot more calm and mature than _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!,_ which was what she actually felt like saying.

He shook his head slightly. "Don't know. Doesn't matter. Important thing is, I'm here." He held out his hand across the table. "And I'm human."

She glanced at his hand in confusion, and he smiled at her expression. _God, I've missed that face._ "Feel my pulse, silly."

She reached out tentatively and placed two fingers on his wrist. After a brief moment's concentration, she felt his skin throb underneath her fingertips, and her eyes widened. "Wow," she whispered. "I can't believe this."

"Join the club, pet." He chuckled softly to himself. "We've got membership cards and everything."

She raised her eyebrows haughtily. "Are they laminated?"

He looked offended. "Yeah, 'course. What sort of organization do you think I'm running?"

They managed to keep their faces straight for about a second. Then Buffy broke into laughter and Spike grinned, loving the sound of it. He picked up the white card printed with the café's menu, his eyebrows furrowing as he scanned it. "Don't they serve any black coffee at this place?"

"Oh, they do. They just don't call it that," she told him, pointing to the _café noir_ listed on the menu.

"I'm not saying that out loud," he said instantly. "I'll sound daft."

"You do realize that's not a real word in any place that isn't in England, right?" she asked him cheerily.

He stared at her, but didn't respond. "What?" she asked, her smile fading slightly.

"You look… happy," he told her, his voice soft. "Hell, you even _sound_ happy."

"Okay, so maybe I tend to live in the land of the depressed," she said, "but I _have_ cracked a smile around you before, so it shouldn't really be a shock to your newly-human system."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just saying… It's good to know that you're still you, even after all that sticky business with the First and the world nearly ending and everything."

"I'm still me, but with a few extra wrinkles," she corrected. "Not to mention the bags under my eyes."

"Oh, you mean those invisible wrinkles and bags? Mm, they're definitely marring your looks, luv. You've gone from being bloody gorgeous to being … slightly more bloody gorgeous. It's a right tragedy."

She let her gaze drop to the table to avoid letting him see how pleased she was by the compliment. "So… what are you going to do now?"

"Well, so far my plans include trying out every kind of food ever discovered by man or beastie, and making an extremely rude gesture at the sun for all those times it nearly crisped me." He shrugged. "Hadn't really thought about it much past that."

"You should come back to the hotel with me," she said. And then, realizing how that sounded, she added quickly, "I mean, to meet the others. Willow, Xander, Dawn, Giles. They're all there now."

"I wasn't exactly jonesing for a reunion with the Buffy-troopers, but I wouldn't mind spending more time with you," he said, his eyes suddenly fixed unnervingly on hers.

"Spike –"

Her regretful tone told him everything he needed to hear, and he held up his hands to stop her words. "Don't worry, I know what comes next," he said bitterly. "Me getting flash-fried in a pillar of flame and then popping up as an honest-to-God real boy doesn't change anything between us."

"Um, actually – yeah, it does." Buffy saw the glint of hope in his eyes and sighed. She didn't want to disappoint him, but she felt like she had to be honest. "I'm just not sure how, or how much. I mean, it's not like I don't… have feelings… for you, but they're all mixed up and hard-to-label. And what I said to you, just before the amulet went all Beacon of Fire… I thought I meant it, but you didn't."

"Mean it?"

"Think_ I_ meant it." She sighed again. "And maybe you were right. Maybe I didn't mean it."

"You don't tell someone you love them by accident, Buffy," he said. "I'll be the first to hop onboard the skepticism train when it comes to your feelings for yours truly; but at the same time I'm hoping some part of you _did_ mean it."

She smiled uncertainly. "Even if it's just a little part?"

"Even if it's the littlest part you've got," he said, returning her smile. "I can wait for the rest."

"Could be a long wait," she told him.

"Yeah, well, I've got a lot to keep me busy in the meantime. Like readjusting to this whole heartbeat business." He poked himself in the chest. "I keep thinking the old ticker's going to give out on me. Feels a bit rusty."

She reached out slowly and placed her hand over his heart. "It feels just fine to me," she said softly.

Their eyes met, and it was a long time before Buffy had the presence of mind to move her palm from his chest. "So, um, we should get going," she said, clearing her throat. "People to meet, plans to make."

"Yeah," he said absently, his mind still caught in the memories her touch had brought back. Not all of them were good, but even the bad ones just reinforced his desire to make her happy. In any way, at any cost. He couldn't erase what he'd done in the past, but he was determined not to make the same mistakes in the future.

_No more screw-ups – not if I want to earn the girl and the dippy happily-ever-after ending. _

And he did want to. Very, very much.

---

**Author's Note:** So, yeah, feedback equals goodness. :-P


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